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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366452">Afterwards</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni'>kethni</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Veep (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:55:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘How was the funeral?’ she asked, standing in the doorway.<br/>‘A little sad,’ he admitted, turning towards her. ‘To have lived such a life, to fulfil what is the highest possible ambition for so many people, and to have so little to show for it.’</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kent Davison/Sue Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Afterwards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to crazymaryt for the suggestion</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>It was a long ride back but that was okay. It had been years since his last road trip, and he found that he’d missed it. He stopped to stretch his legs, get something to eat, and get his hair trimmed. Sue had wanted him to get it cut all week. His hair was something of an ongoing battle between them, left unresolved as much as an excuse to bicker as from any genuine, deep-seated dispute. He could have had it cut earlier in the week, before he drove down, but that was a choice he refused to make. It was an act of respect that he refused to indulge in.  </p>
<p>He didn’t regret that he’d spent time in ways other than road trips. He had made his choices with his eyes wide open. Time, as he was increasingly aware, was finite. Every choice to take one path closed off other potential paths. Every action had a cost. The older he grew, the more aware he became of the costs.</p>
<p>It was early evening when he turned his hog onto the winding road that led up to the ranch. The sky as suffused with shades of gold and pink. It was going to be a warm night. It didn’t seem right really. Not sympathetic weather to suit the sombre mood.</p>
<p>Kent parked up in the garage and wandered into the house. There had been a time when it had been his house and his alone. Now it was a melange of the three of them. A perfect representation of their family. He liked that. It felt right. Even though Carmela hadn’t lived there in some years now, her mark was stamped right into the very foundations of the building.</p>
<p>He missed her. That wasn’t anything shocking or surprising. It had been entirely normal and appropriate for her to move out. Children needed to find themselves, to grow, and define themselves as separate and distinct from their parents. It didn’t seem to occur to anyone that perhaps parents needed to separate themselves from their children.</p>
<p>He had no shame in missing Carmela. No embarrassment. Only the quiet pain chewing at him. What if. What if they’d had more children? What if he’d had children earlier? What if he’d been a better father?</p>
<p>That question was perhaps the hardest. His therapist had told him that it was always the way. The people who cared, who tried the hardest, were the ones who worried most about being poor parents. The ones who didn’t care, who didn’t worry, never tried. It didn’t help Kent. He continued to worry all the time.</p>
<p>Nobody was home. That wasn’t entirely surprising. It was about the time when Sue was generally out at one of her classes. She took a number of classes, although nothing that she wasn’t entirely confident in being able to perform to a reasonable degree before she began. Sue <em>despised </em>not being capable and competent at everything to which she turned her mind. She took it as a personal affront. Kent was not supposed to know this. He understood this and took steps to ensure that she could pretend not to know that he knew.</p>
<p>Kent made himself a cup of lemon tea and went upstairs. He drank his tea, showered, and trimmed his beard. That was a practice that he had long kept for himself. There was something personal about it. He joked to Sue that he didn’t like people holding blades to his neck and perhaps that had some truth. Perhaps it was simply that he preferred to do it himself. His facial hair was a personal statement of style at least as significant as his hair style but one that he could reasonably deal with himself. He checked his cell for the time. Sue would be home soon. Carmela might be with her. She had said that she might visit. It annoyed Sue no end that Carmela was so casual about whether she would or would not visit the ranch. While Kent understood that this laissez-faire attitude was anathema to anyone as naturally drawn to structure and order as Sue, he was also extremely reluctant to do anything which might in any way dissuade Carmela from coming home.</p>
<p>This is the fear known by all parents of adult children, whether they are aware of it consciously or not. Kent was consciously aware of it, painfully so. Painfully aware that Carmela had her own life. That was natural and healthy. It was a sign that they had raised her to be a strong and independent woman.</p>
<p>She had offered to come and look after the ranch when she left NASA, so that he could concentrate on his watchmaking. He knew why she had done that. It hadn’t been said but he had heard it all the same. She was coming home to say goodbye. It might be weeks or months. It probably wouldn’t be years. That was okay. Kent was a realist. He had no expectation of living forever. He understood his own mortality and had made peace with it.</p>
<p>He hadn’t discussed any of this with Sue. While he preferred to discuss everything disturbing or distressing with her, the fact was that there were certain things that she did <em>not</em> wish to discuss with him. While she would discuss medical issues, indeed she insisted on being involved in any diagnoses and treatments, she refused to countenance any dialogue regarding the natural and indeed <em>terminal</em> conclusion of all medical conditions.</p>
<p>He heard the front door opened and closed.</p>
<p>‘Are you home?’ Sue called.</p>
<p>‘I’m upstairs.’</p>
<p>He finished off his grooming, cleaning the sink, as she walked upstairs.</p>
<p>‘How was the funeral?’ she asked, standing in the doorway.</p>
<p>‘A little sad,’ he admitted, turning towards her. ‘To have lived such a life, to fulfil what is the highest possible ambition for so many people, and to have so little to show for it.’</p>
<p>Sue raised her eyebrows. ‘A State Funeral nationally televised worldwide?’</p>
<p>He shrugged. ‘Watched by few people and sparsely attended by anyone other than a handful of former employees that she hasn’t seen in decades. No family. No friends. No lovers.’</p>
<p>Sue pushed his hair back from his forehead. ‘She should have gone to Ben’s funeral.’</p>
<p>‘She wasn’t invited,’ Kent said wryly. ‘Some bad blood after he left the campaign.’</p>
<p>‘Are you surprised that Catherine and Richard didn’t go?’ Sue asked. ‘Familial respect has its limits, and it should.’</p>
<p>Kent shook his head. ‘I’m not surprised, and I certainly make no judgment on that choice. It just seems rather depressing to see what her life added up to.’</p>
<p>Sue kissed him. ‘I don’t know why you went.’</p>
<p>‘To pay my respects,’ he said.</p>
<p>‘In jeans and a denim jacket needing a haircut and a beard trim?’ Sue asked.</p>
<p>He shrugged. ‘I didn’t respect her <em>that</em> much.’</p>
<p>Sue rolled her eyes. ‘But now you’re smartening up?’</p>
<p>‘I only do that for family,’ he said pulling her close.</p>
<p>She leaned in as he slid his arms around her. ‘What would it take for you to wear a suit?’</p>
<p>‘That would have to be <em>my</em> funeral,’ he murmured.</p>
<p>‘Don’t even joke about that,’ she ordered.</p>
<p>He didn’t notice the sound of the door opening and closing again. He was rather distracted.</p>
<p>‘Mom, Dad? Are you… Oh, Jesus, how much of the day do you spend making out in random rooms?’ Carmela asked.</p>
<p>Sue took a step back. ‘If you had given us some indication that you were going to be here then you wouldn’t have wandered in while we were kissing.’</p>
<p>Carmela snorted. ‘Yeah, because me being here would ever stop you two.’</p>
<p>‘Hello, Mela,’ Kent said warmly. He kissed her cheek. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I’ll make you a coffee.’</p>
<p>‘Thanks, Dad.’</p>
<p>As he walked away, he heard Sue clear her throat.</p>
<p>‘I hope you don’t think that our being affectionate has affected you negatively,’ she said to Carmela.</p>
<p>‘Nah,’ Carmela said. ‘Well, only if you count me having unrealistic expectations of how willing partners should be to make out with me.’</p>
<p>‘You should always have high expectations of that,’ Sue said severely. ‘Although perhaps not quite as high as your father’s expectations.’</p>
<p>The End</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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